


Golden Days

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: F/F, Picnics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The golden days of the freak show are long gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Days

It was August of 1950. The freak show was nearing the end of a tour, their tents and caravans taking refuge in a quiet little Georgian town. The summer heat had been merciless, but the troupe sighed in relief collectively when they opened their doors that morning to a cool breeze.

It was the perfect day for a picnic. Everyone slapped together last-minute lunches and laid them on mismatched tablecloths and towels. All care for decorum abandoned, the hierarchy of the traveling show was temporarily forgotten. Mere coworkers and acquaintances sat together and broke bread, as did best friends and lovers. Elsa, who normally dined by herself or took her place at the head of the table, was sitting cross-legged next to Ethel and bickering over the bearded woman's cooking.

"Mark my words, Ethel," warned Elsa. "I'll find someone else to prepare my meals if you keep adding these… _obscene_ -looking dishes to your repertoire."

"Fer god's sakes, it's jest mock turtle soup," said Ethel. "If it weren't no good, then how come it's stood the test of time as one o' the oldest Darling fam'ly recipes?"

"I can't answer you that, but if I'm to eat turtle soup, I'd rather it be made with the real thing," said Elsa. "I have standards, you know."

"Give it a chance, Miss Elsa," squeaked Ma Petite. "It could be yummy."

Elsa sighed, feigning annoyance. "Oh, all right, Liebchen. Anything for you." She closed her eyes as Ethel fed her a spoonful of the soup.

"Wot's the verdict, then?" asked Ethel.

Elsa licked her lips, savoring the flavor. "Well, it isn't the _worst_ thing I've ever tasted. It could use a little more salt, but other than that, not bad."

"Don't let 'er fool yeh," Ethel told the group. "If she rants and raves about it, it's no good. But if she says it's mediocre, then it's the best she's ever 'ad." She grinned. "She's the same way in the bedroom."

Everybody roared, save for Jimmy. He took a look at what he was eating and decided he was done with his meal. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't be hungry for the rest of the day, now that he had more insight into his mother's love life than any son needed.

Elsa cleared her throat and raised her glass high. "A toast," she said. "To my beloved monsters. Every last one of you." She looked Ethel in the eye and whispered, "Especially you."

The troupe clinked their glasses together and drank. In that moment, all shoulders were free from burden. Hard pasts were forgotten, and bright futures were envisioned. Whether it was the wine going to their heads or sheer optimism, everyone believed their good fortune would last.

And it would last. Just not forever.


End file.
